


Enchanted

by julesherondalex



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Adriata, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Love, Summer Court, Unrequited Love, post acofas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-02 04:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesherondalex/pseuds/julesherondalex
Summary: Elain has always known there’s more to her feelings towards Az than just friendly affection. When Azriel and Elain are sent to Adriata on a diplomatic mission, could this finally be the chance for close friends to become even closer?





	1. Chapter 1

“I want you to know … that I am here. For you, I mean. Whenever you need me. I'll be there, always.” Elain exhaled, reaching out to touch the petal of one of her roses to distract herself from Azriel’s reaction.

The spymaster blinked. “I appreciate that, El.”

“I know you do. You're – I _know_. I know you. What I’m trying to say is … I like you. I just wanted you to know that I like you. I mean, I don't want to pressure you into anything but going there, together with you, would mean more to me than you probably think it does. And you don't have to do that if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  
Taking a huge breath Elain clutched her hands together. She could feel Azriel's stare bore into her and, gods, she couldn't look at him. Because now he knew. And he didn't even know everything. Of all the times she had stared at him, completely in awe, and wondered what it would feel like to be _his_.

  
She had been close to confessing many times, but anxiety had always locked up her throat. She didn't know why it had to be today. Of all the days Elain could have told him, it was the day they were supposed to go to the Summer Court together. They’d been asked to visit Tarquin and make sure the refugees from the mortal realms were being treated appropriately. Nesta and Cassian had the task to examine the situation in the Autumn Court, so Elain knew she and Azriel had the easier assignment. A vacation, really.

  
It might have been the broken mating bond to Lucien, or the simple fact of his horrible family, that made Feyre and Rhys decide to send the fiery duo to handle the breed of Beron.

  
Tarquin was of calm nature, her sister had explained. He wouldn't do anyone harm, especially not humans. Nevertheless, they had to be sure.

  
When Feyre had declared the seer would be traveling with Azriel, Elain had been ecstatic. She had realized months ago that the tenuous friendship they had built meant more to her than whatever she had felt for Graysen and certainly more than what the mating bond to Lucien made her feel.

  
Lucien … he was great. Kind hearted and generous, but what drove him to her was the mating bond, and only that. Ironically the Cauldron-forced bond was what Elain couldn’t bear; she didn't want to be loved for the sake of a bond she had no idea how to deal with.

  
The bond was not what she had chosen.

  
Many things in her life had been out of reach and out of her control. Like her ability of foresight.

  
It was another magical bond the Cauldron had forced upon her. But she had found a way to deal with it; with the never ending visions, the curse of seeing Fae die, cities destroyed and families broken. It was Azriel who had shown her how to deal with her newest sense. For he, too, had once figured out how to work with the shadows – how to own them instead of being owned by them.

  
Azriel had shown her a lot of things. Like true friendship.

  
When she was mortal Elain had never befriended boys. It was not appropriate to have a male friend in the mortal realms. People assumed the worst, and it wasn't like the boys had queued up to be the friend of a destitute girl. If they had any intentions with her, they were of physical desires – which Elain had fiercely denied.

  
With Azriel it was _so_ easy. He made it easy to like him, to talk to him. For he listened with utmost attention, drank up every piece of information she had to offer and gave her the most inspiring stories in return. He had introduced her to the story of Nephelle, and Elain had felt inspired to get to know her self-proclaimed weakness of foresight. She went from thinking of it as a curse to a gift as she learned to control her power and helped prevent Fae and mortals from hurting, cities from crumbling and families from breaking.

  
After that, Elain had embraced her seer self – just like she had embraced Azriel's friendship.

  
It didn't take her long to realize that she wanted more, craved it, from Azriel.

  
To her misfortune the male was utterly in love with the Morrigan. It was clear in the way his eyes focused on her every step, how his shadows cleared whenever Mor was near him. To her defense, they also disappeared in the presence of Elain but she was sure he would not in the least feel the way she did. He had Mor.

  
That was the ultimate reason for her not confessing to him before now. Being stupidly in love with a male who didn't love her back was enough of a dilemma, she didn't need the male knowing of it.

  
But Azriel … he was so deserving of love. Sometimes she would look at him and feel like she didn't deserve him. For all the darkness that swiveled around him, he was one of the brightest lights to his family. To Elain. He had done so much for her, without even knowing. Without trying. And maybe that was enough of a reason for him to know how much she wanted him, how dearly she held him close to her heart.

  
Whenever she was sad and feeling undeserving of every good thing that came her way, he was there and cheered her up with his impeccable sense of humor, with his beautiful tales of light and darkness.

  
For he knew what it meant to feel broken and undeserving. As much as Elain wished he didn't, he knew.

  
And despite the obviousness of his feelings for Mor, the blonde female didn't seem to acknowledge them. Sadness overcame Elain at the thought of Mor being completely oblivious to Azriel's feelings. She would meet with her lovers and not even know of Azriel's tortured eyes or the agitated swivels of his shadows. He never showed them when Mor was around, obviously, but he didn't seem to mind Elain seeing them. After all this time he didn't seem to mind her seeing him react, _feel_.

  
But his love wasn't for her, and she would never be someone like Mor – radiant as the sun.

  
She would always be Elain, simple and lovely Elain, who was easy on the eyes but an even easier friend. Nothing more than a friend.

  
She had come to accept that Azriel would always love Mor and not her. As long as she could silently adore him and make him feel as appreciated as he deserved, she would take the brunt of an unrequited love.

  
“I'm never uncomfortable with you, Elain,” Azriel said now, staring at her with confused eyes and a slight frown. “And I like you, too. It would be a crime against all good not to like you,” he added with a quirk of his lips and softness gracing his hazel eyes.

  
Elain blushed but it was more out of frustration than of embarrassment. He didn't seem to know what she had really tried to say without _actually_ saying it. She was in love with him, and her attempt of conveying exactly that had failed. Elain felt herself retreat into the shell of hers, where she kept her feelings hidden away in the shadows.

  
She shouldn't have said anything because next time – if she'd ever be brave enough to try again – it would take even more to get him to understand. To truly understand what was going on with her. What had been brewing underneath her skin and bones from the very first moment they'd met.

  
“So you'll go with me?” she mumbled, eyes still not meeting his.

  
Azriel touched her shoulder lightly before withdrawing. A small, simple gesture that was meant to be reassuring. Friendly.

  
“Of course,” he said and smiled. “Feyre would have me thrown into the sea if I let you go alone,” he joked but Elain blanched slightly.

  
Her attempt had _so_ failed.

  
Such. A. Failure.

  
“All right then,” she uttered, turning back toward her flowers where they bloomed in her garden.

  
They'd been waiting just outside the river home for Feyre and Rhys to finally appear. Elain and Azriel were meant to leave within a few minutes, having planned to depart through Azriel's shadows.

  
Nesta and Cassian had already left at dawn, bickering all the while with Feyre's clearly annoyed frame wedged between them to winnow into the Autumn Court. Elain guessed her youngest sister was barely keeping herself from lashing out for them to stop arguing. Cassian and Nesta going at _each other_ was one thing, but having them _both_ snap with coupled force at you was all fire and fury.

  
Elain shuffled her feet now, trying to hide the uncomfortable feeling of having admitted your love for someone with them misunderstanding the whole confession. She could feel Azriel's confusion over her awkward silence but before he could address anything, Feyre and her mate came striding out of the house.

  
“Ready to leave yet?” Rhys casually made his way toward the two figures remaining in the garden, a gentle hand at the back of his mate. Elain thought it wasn’t an unusual view for them – to see Elain and Azriel together like that.

  
Over the months the flower-grower and the shadowsinger had somehow gotten inseparable. They most often found themselves sitting by Elain’s garden, sipping tea or walking through Velaris during the day or night – always together. _It is what friends do_ , Elain thought chidingly. _Friends spend time together._

  
After a few minutes of hugging each other goodbye and assuring they’d be fine, she turned to the spymaster whose shadows had already started gathering around them. Azriel cocked his head, a silent question to make sure she was ready, and Elain nodded. Sliding her palm against the hand he offered her, the scars and calluses of his hand tickled her senses and shot pleasant sparks down her spine.

  
Before they could vanish into the darkness, Feyre reached for Elain’s sleeve, stopping them.

  
“Make sure to head for the docks once you’re finished with the mission! They have the best fish I’ve ever tasted in my life,” the High Lady swore, making a smacking noise while rubbing her belly. She shot a knowing look at Elain then, winking as her lips lifted into a devilish grin. “Don’t miss out on the pleasures of this trip.”

  
Elain blushed furiously, hoping Az hadn’t caught on to the meaning of Feyre’s suggestive comment.

  
Rhys snorted and directed an indignant gaze at his wife. “Velaris has delicious fish, too, may I add,” was all they heard before Azriel stepped through the shadows with – what Elain thought was – an exaggerated sigh and brought them to Adriata, the castle-city of the Summer Court.

  
Elain could smell the change in the air instantly and hear the sound of seagulls above their heads. The Archeron and Azriel remained in darkness for a few seconds before he murmured an _All clear_ and the darkness surrounding them dissolved – leaving Elain to squint her eyes at the sudden light greeting them.

  
Azriel’s shadows didn’t completely vanish, the shadowsinger keeping them on a close leash while quickly surveying the area with his eyes. They stood on a huge balcony of the High Lord’s tan stone palace – perched atop a mountain-island in the center of a half-moon bay.

  
Elain instantly liked the place – the breeze carrying the salt of the sparkling, turquoise sea, the sounds of waves crashing against the shore and the clatter of the city below. She surveyed the castle with wide eyes, and only noticed they weren’t alone when someone standing across the patio cleared their throat.

  
There stood a gorgeous male, with white and flawless hair surrounding his crystal-blue eyes – the exact same color of the sea. His dark mahogany skin almost glistened in the sun, while Elain sensed the trails of infinite power pouring out of every pore. This must be the High Lord then. Tarquin.

  
The High Lord of the Summer Court returned Elain’s curious gaze with a kind but reserved expression, inclining his head in a small bow once their eyes met.

  
“Welcome to Adriata, Elain Archeron,” he greeted her, eyes flickering to her silent companion. “It’s been a while, Shadowsinger. I am glad it is you arriving rather than the Commander of Night. I half expected to send out more rubies addressed to the Night Court. And lock all our newly restored buildings.”

  
Elain felt Azriel tense beside her and quickly stepped forward with a polite smile atop her lips. Rhys had filled her in on Cassian’s lifelong ban from the Summer Court, quite amusedly so, though she hadn’t expected Tarquin to address the issue in such a feline way – the High Lord seemed to have a wry sense of humor.

  
“Thank you for having us, High Lord. We are glad you accepted our request,” she began. “As far as Cassian is concerned: the Commander is currently on travels with my sister Nesta. You needn’t worry about the safety of your buildings, or your treasures for that matter.”

  
The High Lord of the Summer Court raised his brows in mild surprise, and after a moment … started to chuckle, much to Elain’s relief – having made a bold entrée with the referral to what had caused the initial mistrust between the Courts. Elain felt the tension flow out of Azriel, the male slightly calming at her side, making her relax in return.

  
“Call me Tarquin, seer of Night.” The High Lord inclined his head once more, though Elain could sense the sincerity in the gesture now. “And let me introduce you to my cousin Cresseida – Princess of Adriata.” He half-turned to the female standing beside him, all flowing white hair and beautiful features, too. The attractive Fae bowed her head at Elain, though her sparkling eyes remained on Azriel. She faintly smirked at the shadowsinger.

  
Elain immediately felt annoyance arise toward the Princess of Adriata.

  
“I believe you are already acquainted with Cresseida’s brother Varian,” continued Tarquin with amusement flowing in his eyes. “He seems to be enrapt by a certain Ancient One.”

  
The male, Varian, growled at his cousin, though it was only half-heartedly, he didn’t seem to mind the teasing of his High Lord. The Prince nodded in an acknowledging gesture at Azriel and Elain.

  
Truth be told, Elain could only agree with the High Lord of Summer. Whenever Varian visited Velaris, the purpose of his whole existence seemed to be revolving around the firedrake; Amren and Varian would not be seen for days, completely lost in each other. Elain couldn’t deny she liked the time whenever Varian was in town, for Amren was her most approachable when the handsome male was around – and once they deigned to join the Inner Circle.

  
Nevertheless, Elain and Azriel hadn’t traveled to the Summer Court for pleasantries. There was a task to be accomplished; they needed to make sure the mortals were all safe and adequately supplied.

  
Azriel and Elain, accompanied by Tarquin himself, proceeded to go to the camps. They’d been constructed for the mortals who had fled from the war and whose homes in the mortal realms were now destroyed – all thanks to Hybern and his armies. While several Courts had temporarily opened designated areas to displaced mortals, Tarquin had opened up all of Adriata to the humans. Yet most of them still seemed too scared to take him up on his offer and stayed to the tent city amongst their own kind.

  
Nonetheless, at seeing these people – they were genuinely at ease here albeit a bit wary – Elain felt excitement bubble up within her. Fae and mortals living side by side, the ultimate goal she and her sisters had devoted themselves to in the past few months after the war. Velaris had already opened up its borders for Fae and humans from all over the continent, but Adriata seemed to be just as ready to thrive from the alliance.

  
They saw Fae walking around the tents, talking to their human friends, and Elain gaped when she spotted children – faerie and mortal – playing and squeaking in joy. She grabbed Azriel by the arm then, pointing towards the showcase of trust and peace, feeling herself tearing up at the image. Azriel smiled his soft smile, the one she found endearingly cute, and watched the scenery with Elain by his side.

  
Given his reserved and closed off nature, Tarquin wouldn’t have been able to recognize what Azriel felt, though Elain knew. The shadowsinger enjoyed the mingling between human and Fae just as much as the Made female – going so far as to let himself be ogled by the inhabitants without fading into his shadows.

  
Quite the contrary, his shadows could not be seen during the time they spent in the mortal camps. Azriel forgoing his own shadows and the eternal knowledge they provided him, was a sacrifice Elain knew to appreciate. He was so obviously Fae, with his towering, dangerous-looking frame and the glorious wings – mortals were staring as it was. Many seemed to be extremely wary, even hesitant to go about their days after seeing the mighty Illyrian, with his many Siphons glowing the brighter for the increasingly heating sun.

  
As much as Elain was thankful for Azriel, trying to spare these people from being frightened of his shadows, she couldn’t help but feel sad, too. For Azriel was the kindest Fae she had encountered, and Elain had never been scared of him or his shadows. Much less of his _gorgeous_ wings.

  
In fact, Elain realized, she had always felt drawn to the shadowsinger – with his scarred, beautiful hands and the stories within his eyes she so clearly saw from the very beginning.

  
The more they became acquainted with the camps, the more Elain was convinced that there was next to nothing they could do here. Adriata – and Tarquin – was kind to her mortals. They would be safe here, just as Feyre had predicted. And as they finally left the part of town where the camp was located, she felt as light and relieved as she hadn’t for a long time. Azriel seemed to be on board with her.

  
Tarquin having just bid them goodnight, they now walked through the High Lord’s palace toward their respective rooms. “We could talk to them tomorrow and see if they need anything else,” Azriel suggested, tugging on his lower lip with his fingers while in thought.

  
Elain adjusted the hand she had looped around his arm and averted her gaze from Az’s lips. It had become a habit for him to offer her his arm, and it always made her think of the very first day in Velaris when he had led Elain to the garden to try and bring her some peace.

  
“I talked to some of them today,” she mused. “They seemed well supplied. I don’t think there’s anything we could add.” With a shrug of her shoulders, Elain added, “And I don’t want Tarquin to think we don’t trust him with these people. The relationship between Night and Summer is still timid. Prying more than we need to might demonstrate mistrust, and that, we can live without right now.”

  
Azriel cast her a twinkling glance, while they passed several doors and turned into the hall with their rooms located right across from each other. Rhys had sent their bags of clothing a day prior to their departure and Tarquin had assured everything was accommodated already. So all Elain had to do was to throw herself onto her bed and sleep the exhaustion of the day off.

  
“I always knew you’d be perfect in matters of court politics,” he admitted, quite with mischievous fondness doing so. Elain blushed.

  
“Ah, you’re charming me, spymaster,” she hummed, squeezing his arm in playfulness, earning a private little smile from Azriel. Her heart leaped at the sight; he gifted those grins rarely someone who wasn’t her. Maybe Mor, Elain contemplated, though discarded the thought immediately, lest her heart would weigh down her chest after such a successful day.

  
“I am inclined to agree, though,” Azriel said, returning to the matter at hand. “We should trust Tarquin handling the situation. He seems to be making effort anyway.”

  
Elain recalled the beautifully organized camp, with its ornate tents and own little market containing fresh fish and vegetables. There was definitely effort there.

  
They had reached their rooms in the meanwhile, coming to a stop in front of Elain’s door. It had been quite the hot day in Adriata; despite her light clothing the pressing heat had left Elain’s skin sticky with sweat. She hoped to find a bath waiting for her before a well-deserved night’s sleep. Yet with her hand still around Azriel's arm, Elain frowned.

  
“Are we returning home tomorrow then,” she asked, silently cursing herself for finishing their task this fast, “since we’re done with the mission?”

  
Azriel faced the middle Archeron, her hand sliding off his arm. Elain’s fingers briefly brushed his hand – his scars – and a whiplash of heat surged over her body at his touch. Her skin was covered in goosebumps she tried to ignore.

  
Azriel’s brows furrowed, he scratched his neck. “We could, if that’s what you want.”

  
Elain felt herself deflate in disappointment. Did he want to go home already?

  
“I suppose we could,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. Azriel was silent for a few moments. Then, with slight nervousness caressing the tenor of his voice, “Or we could scout the city – see what Adriata really has to offer for a few days.”

  
Elain looked up in surprise and, what was impossible to hide, increasing excitement. “You mean like a vacation?” she asked somewhat hopefully. There was a mild blush high on Azriel’s cheekbones, Elain noted in delight. _Endearing_.

  
Azriel cast her a rather shy but still mischievous glance and nodded. “Like a vacation.”

  
Elain started clapping her hands eagerly, a bright smile blooming on her features. Seeing Azriel’s lips turn into his very own, very unique grin brought the blush to her face as well. She stifled the urge to run him over, and hug him down right then and there. Opting for a more calm and mature response instead, she folded her hands neatly in the folds of her peach-colored gown and stared up at the male through her lashes.

  
“I would very much love that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain has always known there’s more to her feelings towards Az than just friendly affection. When Azriel and Elain are sent to Adriata on a diplomatic mission, could this finally be the chance for close friends to become even closer?

_Is aggressively stabbing at your food impolite?_ Elain wondered the next morning during breakfast. She certainly felt like stabbing her food – repeatedly at that.

She could see Cresseida’s gracefully long fingers twirl a strand of her pearl-white hair, while the female unabashedly stared at the shadowsinger perched right next to the Archeron. Azriel had just answered one of her unending questions about Velaris. The City of Starlight was well known now, which was strange even for Elain who had barely known about the city and its hiddenness herself.

However, Rhys had explicitly required they try to revive the alliance between the courts – intently staring at the stoic spymaster doing so. Elain knew that’s why Azriel was being so talkative this morning – knew how hard it was for him to openly discuss his home.

She had felt him tense during the beginnings of their conversation, but his tension had eased with time, leaving Elain to wonder whether he had taken a liking to the Princess of Adriata.

Cresseida was quite unabashed with everything she said – cunning even – and she was unapologetically flirting with the handsome Illyrian. _She was a princess_ , Elain thought. _A very attractive one at that._ Elain wouldn’t be surprised if Azriel invited the female to his bed – which was undoubtedly something Cresseida would approve of.

The fork slightly bent between Elain’s fingers. Shocked at the intensity of her own jealous-ridden emotions, she let the twisted silver disappear in the creases of her sky-blue dress.

Looking up from her lap, she met Varian’s gaze, who was seated right across from her. A muscle twitched in his cheek before he reached for his drink and downed it. Elain wasn’t sure whether the male was trying to hide his grin, but she was certain her cheeks were aflame.

 _Do not falter_ , she chided herself. _He’s not yours to be jealous of_.

But she couldn’t help it. She found herself wishing for her own pair of wings so she could flare them in that terribly territorial way Elain had seen Cassian do countless times.

She believed Nesta secretly basked in that particular showcase of Illyrian territoriality, constantly messing with her mate to provoke that primal instinct. However, Elain had neither wings nor was Azriel her lover in any way. She had no right to claim him whatsoever.

The flower-grower was yanked out of her thoughts by Tarquin, who was seated to her left at the head of the table.

“So, Elain, how is your mate? I met Lucien during one of the peace treaty meetings; he seemed to have taken a liking to Jurian. Are they still on talking terms?” he asked her in his ever kind way of polite curiosity.

Elain felt Azriel’s attention snap to her in an instant.

Though Lucien’s name had caught her off guard – especially while she had been deep in thought concerning her feelings for another male – she straightened almost imperceptibly and looked the High Lord in the eye.

“You see, Tarquin, Lucien and I aren’t mated any longer. But he is, indeed, in the mortal realms with Jurian and Vassa. I have good reason to know he’s doing well there,” she responded without as much as hesitating.

Elain may have mourned the breaking of a bond so sacred to the Mother in the first few weeks, but she was neither ashamed of her decision nor did she regret it. And she would not take anyone’s criticism about it.

Tarquin, to his credit, seemed earnestly surprised at her admission, and slightly embarrassed all the same. He grinned sheepishly at her, scratching his brow.

“I must confess, I am not experienced in the act of collecting gossip that seems to come with the position as High Lord. Please accept my apologies.”

Elain cracked a smile at the male, remembering how truly brief his history as High Lord was.

“No need,” she assured. “Though I could arrange a meeting with Feyre and Rhys for you; I’m quite certain they’d do wonders teaching you the high art of gossiping.”

To her surprise, Varian chuckled – nodding as if to agree with her – Tarquin joining him. Even Cresseida’s attention was directed at her now, the amusement and something akin to acknowledgment clear in her eyes. Elain briefly glanced at Azriel, whose attention she could feel the heaviest – as if his eyes upon her made her skin prickle in a way that shot excitement and alertness through her veins.

Azriel glanced at her with what could only be described as a proudly fond expression, his lips having tilted up at the corners. That was as much of her beloved private smile she’d get in the presence of so many others.

What she’d said to Tarquin about her broken mating bond hadn’t required her utmost bravery to say aloud – the way Azriel looked at her, though, made her feel like she’d just won a prize.

“I know I’ve said this before, but the way you handle Tarquin … that is very impressive, El,” Azriel later told her while they made their way through the narrow streets of Adriata. Faeries were all over the city; the weather so hot, every breeze coming from the sea felt like a fresh breath of air. Elain felt sticky with sweat despite her fluttering dress.

The seer looked up at Azriel, meeting his soft hazel eyes and the honesty in them. He did look impressed, but she only shrugged in response.

“It’s nothing. I am just being friendly,” she said dismissively, curiosity making her gaze wander around the street and the people. Mostly, they were Fae but Elain had even seen groups of the braver mortals walking around and marveling.

Azriel gently pulled her sideways, out of the way of a particularly hurried-looking Fae who was striding down the street at a fast pace.

“There’s a big difference between _your_ friendliness and mine. I couldn’t possibly have entertained a High Lord the way you did by just being _friendly_ ,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

Elain stared right ahead when she said, “Your charm seems to have worked on Cresseida, though.” She felt his eyes on her, probably noting the sharper edge in her voice. Elain cursed herself for being so obvious. Azriel shrugged.

“I doubt it had anything to do with my … charm,” he said rather tonelessly, and now Elain couldn’t help but turn to him in disbelief. Had he any idea what kind of effect he had on others? Even now, Fae turned heads to ogle the spymaster, making Elain’s blood boil in her veins. She’d never considered herself as the jealous type. That struck her as a misconception now.

But Azriel either didn’t care or he actually didn’t notice, despite his shadows being on full display and trailing around his neck and ears – undoubtedly whispering their secrets to him.

“Back when Feyre and the others … _visited_ Adriata, Cresseida made advances on Rhys,” he explained, lifting his shoulders in dismissal. “It’s probably the wings.”

Elain stared at him, wide eyed and dry mouthed. She couldn’t help but let her gaze flicker to said wings – the thin membrane with its veins and muscles – taking in their gloriously large extent. Her fingers itched with the need to brush upon them, and see whether the membrane felt as silky as it looked. “I can see,” she only murmured, averting her eyes from them.

When she turned to Azriel’s piercing stare again, it was surprise and something else, something darker, she was met with. But it vanished from his face as fast as it had appeared. Elain could still feel her blood boiling underneath her skin, though it definitely wasn’t jealousy this time.

It was near afternoon when Azriel and Elain decided they had seen enough of the city and headed out to the harbor and the many booths that lined the promenade leading to the docks. Elain was enthralled with the magnitude of all the small novelties; self-made jewelry, ornately painted and carved rocks, jars of homemade marmalade and pastries, anything the heart desired for, really. She dragged Azriel from booth to booth, excitedly discovering with the male by her side.

When they approached yet another jewelry booth, Elain gasped at the sheer beauty of what lay before her: dozens of bracelets, pendants, earrings – all made of sea glass in various colors.

Her eye immediately caught onto a silver bracelet with three beautifully colored, average-sized sea glass stones perched in the center of it; the silver of the armlet was in plaited fashion while the stones were held together by intricately curved silver wires – strikingly beautiful and glittering. Elain made a squeaking noise and gently touched the bracelet with the tips of her fingers. It was the most gorgeous piece of jewelry she had ever seen, and she’d seen many in the wake of the Tiny Ancient One.

“You like that one?” Azriel asked from beside her, his voice amused.

Elain turned to him, with a _Mother,_ _yes_ on her tongue when she was surprised by a full-on cocky grin, stopping the words of excitement from bursting out of her mouth. Encountering his smiles was rare enough, but this kind of grin? Nearly impossible to catch. Which was why Elain had difficulties breathing for a moment – clearly distracted – before noticing _why_ the spymaster was so smug.

It took a second glance at the bracelet, and the flickering of Azriel’s cobalt Siphons in the well-lit booth for Elain to realize the sea glass had the exact same shade of blue as the wondrous gems attached to her favorite Illyrian. _Oh_.

Elain had automatically come to love a bracelet gemmed with cobalt blue sea glass, clearly amusing the powerful Illyrian with her obvious showcase of fondness toward him. But the Archeron hadn’t even realized that that, in fact, was the _exact_ reason why she’d inherently admired the bracelet. Elain had instantly thought the color beautiful and immediately wanted to purchase it. Now, though, her cheeks burned pink.

The image of her failed confession of love was still too fresh on her mind for her _not_ to be embarrassed. She hadn’t been this obvious before, so why now? Now that she knew he didn’t even remotely think there might be anything more to their connection but friendship. It had been clear in his confusion; he didn’t even expect there to be more to them than pure camaraderie. Elain winced.

Keeping her voice low, she mumbled at last, “It’s rather lovely, isn’t it?”

She could still feel the pleased grin directed at her, though Elain made a point not to look at it or she might burst into flames of mortification and longing all the same.

She knew Azriel was only teasing her – but that was exactly why she couldn’t look at him. While he was only joking, she was completely enraptured by the shadowsinger – her emotions too intense to allow her to simply laugh about her little slip of fondness toward the male.

It felt like every second of quietly loving him crowded her in this particular moment and she couldn’t breathe around all the hours and weeks and months clawing up her throat to escape and find release. It was as if her feelings were pouring out of her skin; every word and every glance she gave Azriel inherited her love for him, and she feared that seeing it was as easy as smelling the salt in the air of Adriata.

Elain had never once felt like she needed away from her Illyrian friend, but right now she could have used a few minutes of solitude. If only to master the cacophony of her emotions.

“Don’t you want to buy it?” Azriel mused, his own voice even closer than before. The seer could feel where his chest grazed her shoulder as he stood right next to her. She saw his hand enter her line of sight, the scarred fingers softly brushing the blue of the sea glass. Elain swallowed hard.

“No,” she responded, feigning casualty while she turned – and put as much distance between their bodies as she could – to examine a pair of earrings with red-glowing sea glass attached to them. “I have enough jewelry back in Velaris. I wouldn’t even know when to wear this one.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Azriel’s hand stilling and retracting from the bracelet. Her gaze flickered to the jewelry once more. Gods, it was truly beautiful, and she _needed_ to call it her own. She’d come back later and purchase it when Azriel wasn’t there to witness her weakness for the bracelet that so clearly represented the Illyrian and his cobalt Siphons. Even if she wouldn’t wear it around him, Elain knew she’d spend hours admiring the sea glass bracelet.

Elain only gradually came to really take in the jewelry beneath her fingers, having feigned interest in it to get rid of the close proximity to the Illyrian. But those earrings with the red glass … they’d make a perfect gift for her fiery sister. They were not too small, but still subtle and intense all the same. She felt a tiny smile tugging at her lips. This would be an ideal gift for Nesta; it was just convenient her favorite color was the exact same shade of her mate’s Siphons. With a jab to the heart Elain realized that her favorite had been blue – just like Azriel’s Siphons. Only they weren’t together.

 _Get a grip, girl,_ she found herself thinking – or was that Amren’s voice inside her head?

Slightly dizzy, Elain reached for the earrings and handed them to the seller, wanting the young, beautiful Fae with glimmering pink skin and turquoise hair to wrap it up for her.

Now she needed something for Feyre, and … there: a necklace with a pure black sea glass pendant caught her eye. She could only wonder where the color had come from, but it was such an intense darkness – it almost seemed to swirl inside the gem. Perfect for the High Lady of the Night Court.

Azriel hummed when she showed him what she’d purchased from the jewelry seller and – with a last lingering look cast at the cobalt colored sea glass bracelet – Elain and Azriel made their way through the crowd on the promenade.

Though her mood had slightly dimmed, the gardener retained herself from succumbing to her sudden melancholy. Instead, she took her friend’s arm and enjoyed the buoyant clatter around them. Adriata positively _brimmed_ with life, and it didn’t take long for Elain to be captivated by the atmosphere again; her spirits lifted.

Hours were passing by in the city, and it had become well in the evening. Elain stood by a booth of various painted rocks: the seller himself had drawn faces with startling detail on white stone, all of random people Elain had never seen before.

She had just come upon a certain painting reminding her awfully a lot of Cassian’s face adorned by a funny-looking dark mustache. She turned around in laughter to show Azriel her newest discovery, when she realized that the spymaster was nowhere to be seen.

She twisted in confusion, surveying the crowd for the tall male in a futile attempt to find him. _He must have wandered off somewhere_ , she thought, and purchased the stone to show him later.

It took Az only a couple minutes to find the seer again. Elain saw the spymaster striding toward her with surprising relaxation – hands in the pockets of his pants and his dark tunic slightly moving in the breeze. The dark whorls of his Illyrian tattoos peeked from under the collar of the fabric, and Elain’s fingertips tingled with the need to brush upon them.

She took a moment to unabashedly stare at the male: his towering frame with the tightly tucked in wings, the fullness of his lips and his sparkling hazel eyes with the green and golden flicker. The lazy, crooked grin upon the perfectly chiseled planes of his face.

How could he _not_ see what kind of effect he had? Especially on her?

His whole existence pulled on the strings of her soul and prickled the skin of her body in ways that heated her blood. Sometimes he would look at her in a certain way, with those piercing, predator eyes and Elain would be hit by a hot and cold wave at the same time. She would freeze under his heated gaze; waiting for him to _do_ something, to say whatever was causing the flush on his skin. The same three words were on the tip of her tongue in those moments, dying to find release. But she would always wait for him – to pounce on her for all she cared – and she would have been ready to devote herself to every wish coming from his wicked tongue and scrutinizing eyes.

And that was the worst; Azriel would simply look at her, his sinful lips could notch up in the slightest way possible, no words could be spoken, and Elain would still feel her existence quivering.

Azriel wasn’t a male of many words, she thought, and that was somehow so much worse for her case.

Elain shook her head, trying to discard the heat of her thoughts, the blush staining her cheeks and bosom, and the thought of Azriel thinking he had no charm whatsoever. It was ridiculous.

“What?” He had approached her by now and was still sporting that lazy grin.

“Nothing,” Elain muttered, and twisted away, looking around the promenade once more.

“So,” she began after a moment of observing the docks. “Where’s that fish stand Feyre was talking about? I am dying to taste what had her so delighted.” Lifting onto her toes to peer over the heads of the Faerie crowd, Elain searched for said stand – to little luck given her fairly short frame. With a frustrated click of her tongue she gave up and let Azriel lead her through the crowd.

“You truly want to eat fish? Here? Now?” Azriel seemed amused with the flower-grower. Elain playfully narrowed her eyes at him and put the hand that wasn’t entangled in his arm to her hip.

“Is there a reason you are doubting me, shadowsinger?”

Azriel stared down at her, his eyes shining in the dim light of the promenade. “I am the least to ever doubt you, flower. In fact, only a fool would underestimate Elain Archeron from the Night Court.”

Elain’s heart skipped a beat at his words. _Do not falter_.

“You’re only saying that because you are my friend,” she tried to sound mocking and playful but her voice didn’t seem to be on board with her intentions. Lowering her eyes to her feet, Elain worried her lip and tried to ignore the sudden lump in her throat. She’d always doubted herself in many ways; it wouldn’t surprise her if he did, too.

Azriel cocked his head to the side, and then he was gently grasping her arm and pulling her away from the busy crowd, into a little alcove of light and shadows.

“There are not enough days in my immortal life for me to thank the Mother for being your friend, El. You are not only one of the very few seers I have ever heard of, but you have a power in you most Fae could only ever dream of. And it’s not just that; you are smart, funny, and the kindest person I know. Not to mention that whatever you touch, plant or person, it will nurture and thrive under your insistence.”

Elain’s breathing hitched when Azriel’s finger trailed a soft and short path from her temple over her cheekbone. The gold in his eyes was shining as if to compete with the light all over the shimmering promenade.

“Believe me, Elain, your friendship is a gift. There’s not an ounce of doubt in me when it comes to you. And if I weren’t your friend right now, I’d make sure to befriend you, even if it would be the last thing I could do. For I’d rather be standing right beside Elain of Night, the seer and flower-grower, the gentle heart, than anywhere else.”

Oh, holy Mother of all life and death, how did one breathe again? Because Elain definitely had forgotten how to breathe around Azriel. She stood there, completely dumbfounded, and stared at the male, not even close to processing his words – the admiration, the respect and honor in them. All for her.

He was … Azriel was so …

Azriel was chuckling nervously, and Cauldron boil her if he wasn’t furiously blushing under her stunned gaze.

“What are you saying, El? Shall we head to the infamous fish booth?” Azriel mused with his twinkling eyes.

Elain had never needed that fish sandwich more in her life.

…

It turned out there was no fish stand at the docks of Adriata but rather various sailor ships selling fried fish directly from the decks. Elain and Azriel walked along the docks, not being able to decide where to turn. Az had sent his shadows to scout the area; the thin tendrils of black smoke almost invisible to the naked eye – but Elain had always found them too alluring not to notice.

 _Only the best for the Lady_ , he had teased her with that little grin of his, making Elain want to fan herself right then and there.

Azriel’s shadows brought them to an aged-looking ship with its beautiful, pastel blue and white colored hull. The shadowsinger talked to the sailor and soon enough Elain held a delicious smelling sandwich consisting of fried fish and an even better smelling creamy sauce, lavishly poured all over the goodness.

Elain was still not over Azriel's generous words from earlier, still thinking about the light in his eyes when he had talked about her.

It was hard _not_ to love him. If she hadn't already fallen headfirst for this kind, loving Illyrian, Elain knew she would have by now.

Her skin pickled wherever he touched her, his words lingered in the forefront of her mind.

She wanted to collect every syllable coming out of his mouth and make a list of her favorite words. _If you'd let me Azriel_ , she thought, _I'd love you the way you deserve until the day I turned to dust and shadows and even after that_. Elain would love Azriel so much, her love would remain even if she was not _being_.

The seer watched her shadowsinger talk to the sailor, his back and wings to her, and huffed. In a desperate act of drowning her frustration in delicious fish, she – quite ungracefully – bit into the sandwich … and almost choked on it when bits of sauce squirted right onto Azriel's wings.

Elain stood there, frozen in horror, and waited for Azriel to notice that she'd just made a mess of fish sauce on his beloved wings. But the Illyrian didn't seem to have noticed it; he was still talking to the sailor with that low rumble of his voice.

Elain hastily swallowed the bite, burning her throat doing so, and inspected the spot right at the base of Azriel’s left wing – near his muscled back. From up close, there were only tiny drops of cream, apparently not enough to have alerted the Illyrian and his sensitive wings.

She couldn't just let him walk around with sauce all over him, Elain contemplated. Without thinking twice she reached out and swiped her fingers over Azriel's wings, cleaning them of the dots of sauce.

She couldn't have possibly predicted what happened next – even with her ability of foresight. A startled hiss came from Azriel, and he all but leaped away from her fingers – sending a pile of neatly folded fishnets flying over the deck in the process. Elain stood in stunned silence, her fingers still in the air and stared up at the male in shock.

Azriel twisted in a blazingly fast move, his face a mask of unfiltered horror while he tried to process what – _who_ – had touched his wings.

Elain awkwardly turned her hand, so that he could take in the cream on her fingers. “You had sauce on your wing,” she weakly explained, already feeling the threads of utter embarrassment climbing up her neck and cheeks.

Once Azriel realized there was, in fact, no danger directed at his wings but the fingers of a certain clueless flower-grower, his face took upon a deep scarlet color – he was blushing to his ears in sheer mortification.

He mumbled something along the lines of an apology and bent to pick up the strayed fishnets, collecting them and folding them neatly into their original state – all the while Elain and the sailor stood in stunned silence, not quite knowing what to make of the situation.

Elain didn’t know whether she should be mortified over her own audacious fingers, or the fact that Azriel’s wings must have been even more sensitive to the touch than she’d initially thought. The knowledge clanged through her, leaving her body heated and her face even redder than before. _Gods_ , she was a fool. Why had she thought it was a great idea to touch him without his consent? And he clearly had _not_ enjoyed the stealthy touch of his petite friend. Now they were both a mess of humiliated mortification.

“I’m so sorry, Azriel. Really, _so_ sorry,” she now apologized for what felt like the hundredth time. The flush on Azriel’s face hadn’t left him since they had bid the dumbfounded sailor goodnight and started walking toward Tarquin’s palace. Even now, in the dim light of the corridors to their rooms, she could feel his humiliation of having reacted in such a dramatic way to the simple touch of Elain’s fingertips.

“Stop, Elain. I told you, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” he quietly voiced then, hiding his eyes from her by intently staring at his fast-pacing feet. Elain had abstained from taking his arm, and Azriel hadn’t offered to lead her.

“But I didn’t mean to … the sauce … and I just tried to-,” she stammered until Azriel stopped in his tracks and embraced her upper arm with his long, magnificent fingers. The contact nearly made her jump in her skin, heat pooling in her very core.

“Look, I am embarrassed as it is. Please stop apologizing, all right?” he pleaded, looking her in the eyes for the first time since their little incident.

She could all but nod, words were failing her right now anyway.

His grip eased, though he didn’t let go of her. Elain almost fainted out of relief when she spotted that tiny twitch of his lips, and she thanked the Mother for his steadying hand on her arm when Azriel suddenly began to grin widely – just to burst into full-on self-depreciating laughter.

Elain couldn’t help herself – what had happened was so absurd and comical at the same time. She joined the Illyrian with her own giggling, until she was clutching at his arm to keep herself from actually tripping and falling into a tear-streaked, stomach-hurting mess of a female.

“I have never seen anyone jump so high into the air,” she exclaimed breathlessly, still laughing.

The blush on Azriel’s might have been from their laughing fit or the reminder of his reaction, either way he had never looked cuter with that bright boyish grin, Elain thought.

“The worst is that I didn’t even see you coming,” he mused, more calm than before now. “Normally I would have sensed someone who is about to touch my wings. That’s the very first lesson Illyrian’s are taught: to protect one’s own wings for they are our most precious possession.”

Elain smiled, still recovering from the ache in her belly from giggling too much. “You were talking to the sailor. I caught you off guard. It happens,” she shrugged.

Azriel looked at her contemplatively. “It wouldn’t have,” he added, “but there’s something about you, Elain, that makes me lower all my shields.”

Elain would have blushed at that if she hadn’t been for the past hour already.

“That doesn’t sound very good, does it?” she sheepishly asked, swiping a stray lock of honey brown hair out of her face. Azriel’s focus flickered to that strand for a moment, his mouth notching up into a half smile.

“I think it does. It means I am trusting you with my back, El. I’m trusting you enough to forget all about my observations,” Azriel said, staring down at her out of half-closed eyes. The hazel pierced through her chest right into her heart anyway.

Elain had nothing to say to that, the words lingering in the air between them. Only then did she notice they had come to a stop right at the threshold of her room. Disappointment spread through her chest; she didn’t want the night to end, much less to let go of her shadowsinger friend.

Having noticed her glance to the door, Azriel took a respectful step back, probably thinking she wanted to head to bed. Elain hastily gripped his arm before he left for his room for good. “We’re staying for a few days, right? We’re not leaving tomorrow?”

Azriel’s face lightened up. “Of course we’ll stay. As long as you wish.”

 _Forever then_ , Elain thought longingly. _But as long as we’re together anywhere would suffice._

She reluctantly let go of his arm and opened the door to her room.

Before she closed it, Elain turned to look at the Illyrian, still standing where she’d left him. “Goodnight, Azriel,” she whispered.

Azriel’s face was partly hidden in the shadows, but his eyes – _oh, his eyes_ – burned brighter than ever. Elain could tell he was as hesitant to let her go tonight as she was. How much she wished to invite him to her room – but that was not possible. He wouldn’t approve the reason _why_ Elain desperately wanted him in her room, or at least that’s what she told herself.

And still, his face seemed to mirror her expression of longing and fondness, when he quietly murmured, “Goodnight, El.”

…

Elain threw the light blanket aside and set her feet on the cold stone, finally giving up trying to sleep that night. She had been tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off against the onslaught of thoughts and emotions – all consisting of her Illyrian friend.

She reminded herself that they were just friends, and nothing more because the shadowsinger was still in love with the Morrigan and would likely love her until the day _he_ ceased being.

Which is all right, Elain told herself. Mor was great, wonderful even. He probably couldn’t help himself loving her, just like Elain couldn’t help herself loving Azriel.

That was what love was about, really. It would strike you out of nowhere and keep you in its fangs until you were either in the arms of your lover or close but never close enough. It would never truly let you go; the love would remain within yourself – hidden in the shadows but desperately wanting to be dragged into sunlight.

After her failed attempt of a confession, Elain would have thought she’d rather keep her feelings hidden than have Azriel know and be bared open forever. But their time spent together in Adriata had been feeding her hope silently. How Azriel had looked at her before she’d gone to bed … that hadn’t been a friend looking at a friend. Elain found herself trying to object to her own observation, but she had seen it – in that moment before Elain closed the door, Azriel had contemplated staying just like Elain had thought about inviting him to her room. And she had been too much of a coward to just ask him.

Now she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t drown all her doubts and regrets.

Adjusting the strap of her flimsy silken nightgown Elain trotted to the open window, facing the now dark blue glittering sea and the sandy beach.

The moon hung high in the sky, gifting enough light for Elain to see the beach. It wasn’t empty as she had expected it to be. Her heart started to thump in her chest when she spotted a pair of familiar wings and dark tousled hair. Azriel. He was seated on a rock atop the shore right below her window – with no one but his own company.

Without knowing what she was doing, Elain grabbed for her thin dressing gown and exited her room. All her mind could picture was Azriel sitting by the sea; Azriel tracing her cheek with a scarred finger; Azriel looking at her with longing in his eyes.

Her heart hammered by the time her bare feet hit the sand of the beach, striding with light but quick steps, trying to reach the Illyrian. Elain had no idea what she’d say to him but they needed to talk. She _needed_ to confess, or she’d choke on these emotions so intense that breathing had become an issue whenever Azriel was close. Even if he rejected her, maybe she’d be able to at least breathe again.

Laughter echoing from the rocks stopped her in her tracks. One of them was definitely Azriel; she’d recognize that sound anywhere. Elain could grow old and forget her own name, but she’d never forget Azriel’s joyful laughter.

And for some reason, hearing it now was like stepping under an ice cold stream of water. She had spent _weeks_ to be the reason for that laugh; whoever had made him laugh now couldn’t have known him more than a few days. And worse, Elain knew the other husky, confident laugh. She had heard it just this morning, and she had seen the seductive, inviting glances accompanying it. Cresseida was here. With Azriel.

Elain couldn’t help herself; she took a few more steps until she could see them, perched side by side on that rock. She could hear them talking.

Cresseida was leaning into the male. And Azriel? Even from the distance Elain recognized his dazzling smile, the open expression on his face. It was like a jab to the heart.

The Azriel Elain knew wouldn’t have smiled this freely with a lady he barely knew, except … except if he was attracted to her.

The jab to her heart morphed into a punch to the gut, leaving Elain breathless and weak in the knees. She lowered her eyes to check if her knees would be able keep her on her feet. In her haste to get to Azriel, she hadn’t even bothered to change out of the flimsy nightgown – her legs being utterly naked. But it wasn’t the skin showing that bothered her. Elain felt bare and strangely naked within her soul.

The Archeron uttered a quiet prayer to the Mother when she whirled around and her legs _did_ work. She quietly made her way up the beach – leaving the two of them behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there guys, thank you for reading x
> 
> The last part will be up on Jan 12, 2019


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain has always known there’s more to her feelings towards Az than just friendly affection. When Azriel and Elain are sent to Adriata on a diplomatic mission, could this finally be the chance for close friends to become even closer?

In a way it was a mercy to see them like this, Elain thought, for she would have totally confessed every ounce of love she felt for the Illyrian. Even if she hadn’t, her soul was bared open for him to read right off her heart. He would have known. Azriel would have known what she felt the minute he looked at her. Now, Elain had time to carefully stitch the pieces of her soul together.

She needed to get back. She needed to close that wide open, damned heart of hers.

Although her knees had surprisingly stood firm and strong on the sand when Elain whirled around and prepared to leave as quietly as possible, her world still came to a screeching halt when someone called out her name.

Azriel. Of course.

But she couldn’t face him right now; she still hadn’t closed off her feelings, hadn’t yet the time to stuff them back into the deepest corners of her heart. She could not – would not – face him. Not now. _Please, Mother._

But the Mother must have gone to bed early tonight, because Azriel caught up with her, saying her name a bit breathlessly and gently grasping her arm when she didn’t turn to him.

“Hey, Ellie, what’s wrong?” he sounded concerned, and damn the Cauldron if it didn’t make it harder on her. He sounded like a worried friend – like a friend of her sister who had been assigned to make sure she was all right. Elain fought against the urge to wince.

“It’s nothing,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I-I just couldn’t sleep and thought …” she trailed off. Azriel let go of her arm, and Elain instantly missed the contact while being relieved at the loss all the same.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, too,” Az responded, his voice raw. She felt the movement of his hand and knew he was dragging it through his thick hair. Her mind itched and urged her to look up, to soak him in but she set her jaw tight – firmly looking at the sand to her feet.

When she didn’t respond to him, Azriel moved even closer. “Are you sure you’re fine? You seem a little pale,” he said doubtfully, and Elain knew he was inspecting her closer now, examining the expression on her face, the grimly tightened mouth, her stiff frame. Elain knew this because she knew him. She knew him in her very bones, in the air that circulated in her lungs and the blood flowing in her veins; Elain knew Azriel and she had never loved anyone so thoroughly as she loved him.

And she needed to get away. Now.

“I am fine, really,” she lied with what should have been a reassuring smile but probably resembled a painful grimace. “You should get back to her. Don’t make her wait.”

Without having looked at him for a single second and awaiting his response Elain darted around, already pacing up the curve of the beach to get back to the palace and the safety of her room. Where there would be darkness to greet her, and a very comfortable, perfect-for-crying bed.

Wishful thinking – that was what the beckoning darkness was. Because Azriel was still following her.

“Elain. Wait,” he pleaded, reaching for her arm once more. “Tell me. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Elain felt the stupid prickle of tears lining her eyes, and she made a frustrated little noise without turning to the male who was touching her again. “I told you it’s nothing, Azriel,” she snapped but didn’t have the strength to pull away from him. Her damned body hadn’t caught up with her mind; instead of wanting away, it screamed _closer, closer, closer_.

Through that little connection between them, Elain could sense the stiffness taking over Azriel with her dismissive tone. However, instead of retreating like Elain thought he would do, the shadowsinger further closed in on her until his chest touch her back. His fingers were still enclosed around her upper arm, and Elain gasped when she felt his thumb swiping across her skin in a calming gesture.

“Why aren’t you looking at me, El?” he mumbled, his breath tickling her bare shoulder; the dressing cloak had fallen off of it, together with the strap of her nightgown. Elain shivered.

Without replying to his question – and still not meeting his eyes – Elain lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. “You shouldn’t be here right now. I am quite certain Cresseida won’t like being left there in solitude.”

Azriel clicked his tongue impatiently – another surprise. Usually, Azriel was far from being impatient.

“I don’t care. She is nothing to me,” he said in an almost-snarl.

Elain’s head snapped up to his in surprise. Although her eyes still didn’t meet his, she let herself watch his soft mouth and the stubborn set of his jaw. “But … but you were laughing with her,” she mumbled, her voice seemingly far away.

Azriel turned her body around to face his. They were still close enough that if she were to reach out, she could have touched the planes of his face with ease.

“I was laughing because I felt _happy_ ,” Azriel told her meaningfully. Elain clutched her hands together. _Of course_. Why else should he have laughed with Cresseida as he had with Elain? She told herself that she wasn’t the only one who could make him happy, who could tickle that little grin out of him, who … Since her eyes were still attached to his jaw, she saw the moment he began shaking his head.

“You don’t understand,” he ground out in a frustrated gush of breath. “I was happy because of _you_. Because of the day we have spent,” Azriel explained.

Against her better judgement, the pain in Elain’s heart eased a bit. “Oh,” she simply responded.

Elain yearned to look at him, to see the truth in his eyes as she always did. For he had never given her less than his honesty. He had never lied to her nor had he ever betrayed her. Azriel was her most loyal companion, her ever kind friend, and gods, she was so in love with this male.

She couldn’t lie to him and if she were to look him into the eyes he would see her truth right away. So she didn’t. Instead, Elain all but fixated the patch of skin where his throat met his shoulder.

The more she withheld from him, the more agitated he seemed to get; Azriel started to pace.

“I meant what I said, earlier, on the docks,” he rambled. “It’s an honor to be your friend, and I – you’re my best friend, El. I just need you to understand that-” He came to a stop right in front of her, so close their chests almost touched. She exhaled a shaky breath and kept her eyes glued to his neck.

“Look at me, Ellie. Please. Why don’t you just look at me?” His voice dropped to a desperate plea as if looking at him might solve all the tension between them. As if his eyes could convey everything he had difficulties to put into words.

And perhaps that’s exactly what he wanted, Elain thought. They had often communicated through silence, had learned to read each other so well, Elain didn’t really need words to understand him. But that was exactly why she couldn’t look at him, for he would wordlessly understand what she needed, too.

“I can’t,” Elain said through clenched teeth, her voice strained. _Do not falter. Do not falter, do not falter._

“Why?” Azriel rasped and came even closer, making it impossible for the Archeron to properly breathe. His fingers slowly reached for her chin, fitting his thumb in the hollow beneath her lower lip as if he wanted to lift her face and force her to look at him. Elain couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted.

But Azriel didn’t move her face, didn’t lift it up to his – didn’t force her to meet his gaze. Elain squeezed her eyes shut anyway because that was _so_ him. He was thoughtful and respectful; no matter what _he_ wanted, Azriel always made sure Elain’s choices stayed hers.

Whatever he saw in her face then, it seemed to deflate him. He tensed all over.

“Is it too much – being my best friend? Is that why you won’t look at me?” The deep tenor of Azriel’s voice sounded strangely off. Hurt even.

Elain’s eyes fluttered open in surprise, and without her doing, moved to his own until their gazes met. She inhaled in a gasp; the hazel of his eyes mixed with the green and gold and she was floored by the intensity in them, by her own emotions pooling in her belly when she looked at him.

It was adjacent to jumping off a cliff and hanging in the air for the littlest moment, feeling the drag of gravity and the slowing of time. Elain was right in that moment; she could feel the pull of the earth beneath her, could feel the hazel of Azriel’s eyes sucking her in. And there was no way she could get back onto that cliff, no way to stop the freefall now.

“Of course I want to be your best friend,” she breathed. Elain had never heard her own voice sound so deep. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s just that … I just want …” _More_.

 _Just say it_ , her heart wailed. _More, I want more_.

“What it is that you want, Elain?” Azriel asked lowly, the rumble of his voice reverberating through his chest right into Elain’s.

_Say it say it say it_

But Az and Elain had always communicated better with silence than words. So she did the only thing that would make him _understand_.

Elain closed the gap between them and kissed Azriel on the lips.

It was more of a soft peck to his mouth than anything, but it still shook her to the core and left her yearning for more. She pulled back though, slightly, to see how he would react. Would he kiss her back? Her heart sang inside her chest.

But the moment her eyes met his, Elain knew he wouldn’t kiss her back.

There was such deeply rooted, clear shock flowing in them, it took her aback for a second. _He hasn’t expected this in the least_ , she thought. It was clear in the stiffness of his shoulders beneath her hands. His finger had slipped from her chin, and was now awkwardly hanging between them in the air.

Pain sliced through Elain’s chest and punched her in the gut; this time, it was her mind catching up a notch too late while her body had physically already recoiled from the male.

Azriel hadn’t seen the kiss coming, because he hadn’t even thought she might want _more_.

It was as if Elain had traveled back to Velaris; her confession desperately clung in the air while Azriel’s confusion over it clogged her throat. Humiliated. She was utterly humiliated. He hadn’t understood then, and although he must have gotten her now, he was still confused. Because no matter how close of a friend he saw in Elain, she would never – could never – be his Mor.

Morrigan’s name clanged through Elain’s mind, and horror crept up her spine. She had known Azriel was still in love with the female. The Archeron’s kiss had probably felt incredibly wrong to him; he must be disgusted with her and – _oh gods_ – what had she done?

Elain drew away hastily, blanching by the second. She wouldn’t – couldn’t – look at Azriel again. It would only hurt them both.

“I’m sorry,” she panted. “I’m – I’m so sorry.”

With that, Elain bolted up the beach, leaving a deeply shaken Azriel behind.

…

Elain awoke with a massive headache the next morning. She laid in bed, unmoving and tried to count the hours she must have been asleep –not nearly enough to call it a night’s sleep, for sure.

It was rather self-explanatory that she’d spent the darkest hours sobbing into her pillow; trying to smother the sound as much as possible in case Azriel had returned to his room after last night. _Still_ , she thought, Azriel was a spymaster and he had his shadows, he would know if she was to spend the night crying herself dry. But there had been no knock on her door. No Azriel who’d run after her, apologizing and telling he felt the same, no one who’d taken her face in their palms and kissing all her tears away. Even now, after thinking she had shed all tears, Elain’s vision became blurry with the thought. She couldn’t imagine there being any hope left in her after what had happened last night, but here she was; hoping and crushing.

 _You have to stop_ , she reminded herself. _Stop pitying yourself and get up. You have endured worse_.

It was hard to tell your heart that losing the love of its life wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen though.

But hadn’t she told herself it didn’t matter if he rejected her? All that mattered was that she was free now, not any longer burdened by a secret she had kept in her heart for so many months. And Azriel deserved to know he was loved thoroughly; even if it meant she’d have to deal with the brunt of having a broken heart.

Elain would still have to face him today; she was quite frankly not ready for that encounter but she wasn’t an Archeron for nothing. She would stand up, get ready, face Azriel and be brave. She had to be.

Giving a long, dreadful sigh, Elain lifted onto her elbows, squinting to look at the sun freely shining through her open window. Was it time for breakfast already?

Something shimmering caught her eye. Sitting up, Elain rubbed the sleep off of her eyes and looked closer. Indeed, there laid a sparkling object on the sill of her window. She couldn’t recall having put something there. Elain scrambled off the bed and padded to the window, only to stop dead in her tracks and gasp when she beheld the item.

It was the sea glass bracelet.

With trembling hands the seer reached for the jewelry, brushing upon the glass and indeed, it was real – she wasn’t dreaming. Someone had bought her the bracelet and put it right there, in her room. And there was only one person who would have done that. Only one person who knew how much Elain had loved the gorgeous armlet. Her heart leaped at the possibility.

She recalled Azriel disappearing in the crowd while she had been eyeing the painted stone faces; he had returned with a satisfied looking grin shortly after. Did he go back to the jewelry booth while Elain had been distracted?

 _But why_ , she thought, why would Azriel give her this?

The bracelet hadn’t been here last night, so he must have smuggled it in her room while she was asleep; for she would have noticed someone – or something – stealthily placing a bracelet onto her windowsill even while being a sobbing mess. Did this mean he had returned after she had fallen into an exhausted, restless sleep? Did he use his shadows? Why, after all that had occurred the past night, would Azriel give her this bracelet?

Elain’s mind was dizzied and she needed tea. As in, right now.

Her hand hovered over the bracelet, and for a second Elain hesitated. Then, with a mind of their own, her fingers closed around the jewelry and the female left to take a long, much-needed bath.

An hour later Elain found herself standing right in front of Azriel’s door.

Would he be in there? Had he slept here last night? Had he taken Cresseida to his bed, even after all that he’d said about her? _She is nothing to me_ , Azriel had snarled. But the princess didn’t need to be _something_ to land in his sheets, did she?

Elain violently shook herself out of her ugly thoughts. This wasn’t her. Cresseida had done nothing wrong nor had she purposely harmed Elain. The Princess of Adriata had helped them during the war, had fought right beside the Night Army. And granted, Elain should have been the least to blame Cresseida for wanting Azriel.

Sighing, Elain turned her back to Azriel’s door. He wasn’t there, or she would have felt him somehow. He might be spymaster and shadowsinger of the Night Court, but he was still a part of Elain – her friend. Elain just hoped he would wish to remain friends with her, and her actions last night hadn’t ruined their relationship.

She had been so blinded by the intensity of her feelings that she hadn’t even thought about what a kiss could mean for their friendship. She would never forgive herself if she ruined what was the best thing in her life. Of her _immortal_ life. The thought of having lost Azriel for eternity made her tremble with cold panic and dread. She would never forgive herself for losing him. Not ever.

Gathering her courage – and banishing the despair into the farthest corners of her heart – Elain set out for the dining hall where breakfast was served every morning. She needed to be brave; Azriel would be down there. He’d most certainly even sit right beside her. Elain clutched her fingers together to stop the shaking and entered the room – spine straight and chin high. But Azriel was not seated at his usual place.

In fact, none of the males Elain had breakfasted with were in their seats. Only Cresseida sat at the table, calmly buttering the slice of bread in her hand. The dark-skinned female didn’t even look up at the Archeron.

Elain locked up, remembering the husky laughter from the night before. She had no idea if Cresseida had heard or seen what happened between Elain and Azriel at the beach. Despite her casual posture, Elain saw the stiffness in the princess’ shoulders.

Before Elain could as much as bid good-morning to the female, Cresseida spoke in her usual confident way. “Your shadowsinger isn’t here.”

Elain tensed. _Your_ shadowsinger.

“Where-,” she started but Cresseida continued talking as if she hadn’t heard the flower-grower.

“Varian received word of an uproar at the mortal camps this morning. My brother, Tarquin and the spymaster departed to interfere with the troublemakers.” Cresseida looked up at that, her expression one of calm coolness when it met Elain’s. But the gardener could see the tension clearer now, and realized it had none to do with _trivialities_ such as jealousy.

Her heart started to thump in her chest. An uproar at the mortal camps? What was going on? Why would the mortals so much as riot? And Azriel … she knew the Illyrian would never hurt innocent mortals, but what would the folk of Summer do if met with rioting humans? That is, if Cresseida was telling the truth.

Elain needed to see for herself. She needed to make sure the humans – and Azriel – were safe.

The seer turned abruptly and made to leave the dining room, her mind already with her Illyrian friend.

But Cresseida had arose and crossed the room in less than a blink, blocking the exit door. Elain froze.

“I was assigned to make sure the seer of Night would stay in the palace for the danger being. I _intently_ suggest you partake of your breakfast now,” the female demanded in a voice drenched in pure steel and command.

Elain felt her blood run cold, her body tensing at Cresseida’s tone. She narrowed her eyes at the female, straightening to her full height and clenching her fists at her sides.

_You have a power in you most Fae could only ever dream of._

The Archeron closed her eyes for a second, feeling for that ancient yet enduring power in her bones. Not her ability of foresight but the remnants of the Cauldron within her; that immortal Fae strength caused by the process of being Made – forged by the Cauldron itself.

She let her powers pour all over herself, let it prickle all over her skin and fill the place with its crushing existence. The room seemed to darken despite the open windows and the freely shining sunlight.

When Elain opened her eyes and splayed her fingers, fiery blue magic crackled between them. And the Princess of Adriata was staring at her – wide-eyed – in shock and unmistakable fear.

_Only a fool would underestimate Elain Archeron from the Night Court._

“I won’t hide in the palace nor will I stand back. I am Elain of Night, and you will not tell me what to do, _princess_ ,” the seer hissed with a savagery she hadn’t felt since the day she had slayed the King of Hybern.

But Elain was no foolish, young maiden depending on the help of others any longer; she might have been jealous of Cresseida, but she sure as hell would not cower in front of her. Elain the Fae had it in her to be strong and brave.

Cresseida’s eyes blazed in rage at the barely hidden dismissal in Elain’s voice. Before the female could start to answer her though, Elain inhaled a deep breath and winnowed out of the room.

Gasping, she landed right on the front steps of Tarquin’s palace, clutching the stone of the banister and trying to ignore the turning of her head and lurching of her stomach. Winnowing was fairly new to the seer, given she and Feyre had barely started their winnowing lessons. She had been trying for months now, but had only ever stepped through the fabric of the world twice, and very short distances at that.

However, there had been no room for doubt when Elain had winnowed out of the palace. Truth be told, seeing Cresseida’s shock at Elain’s clearly there magical power had brought a triumphant and proud feeling to the Archeron’s chest.

It _was_ a mistake to underestimate Elain of Night, Azriel had been right with that.

Elain needed to be quick now; once Cresseida realized that Elain had winnowed out of the palace, she would be sure to follow her to the camps. Grasping for her seer powers now, Elain pictured Azriel’s face in her mind; it was the easiest thing in the world – Azriel’s face always lingered wherever she looked inside herself.

She followed the thread of his existence, traced the lines of his being and sure enough an image surfaced in her mind. There he was, in all his dark glory – wings slightly flared and knees bent in that fighting stance – towering over the crowd around him. The mass of people still kept a safe distance from the shadowsinger though, and voices mingled in the air. Elain could not decipher what was going on, but she recognized where Azriel was situated. He wasn’t at the mortal camps.

As if in answer the next image flared in her mind; the blue-white hull of a sailor ship and the turquoise water of the sea.

 _At the docks_ , Elain thought in surprise. Azriel was at the docks.

She started marching down the steps, when another picture hit her mind.

It was another scene with the sparkling sea in the background yet completely anew. Elain intuitively knew that this wasn’t the same scenery as the images before. Instead, she could feel sand beneath her feet and see two delicate hands grasping the dark fabric of a soft tunic – dark swirls were peeking underneath on the golden skin.

The image was gone as soon as it had appeared, leaving Elain breathless and trembling. Those had been her hands, and the swirling tattoos … Shaking her head, the seer discarded the pictures of the vision. She could decipher its meaning later; Azriel needed her now.

Running through the city left her in gasps when Elain arrived at the harbor of Adriata. The streets had been surprisingly crowded, some Fae lingering and talking in hushed whispers and others simply going about their days. Elain couldn’t help but worry; she prayed to the Mother the Mortal-Fae alliances wouldn’t suffer under whatever was happening at the docks.

Searching for the Illyrian, the seer forced her way through the intensely thickened crowd. She couldn’t see Azriel yet but he must be here somewhere; Elain could feel him.

Elain whipped around when someone called her name. It was Varian, striding through the crowd while it unconsciously parted for him.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Elain,” he started with a concerned expression. Elain faintly noted her own surprise.

“What is happening, Varian? I demand to know,” she responded instead. The challenge in her voice wasn’t even forced; the adrenaline rushing through her made it easy to cling to the power within her.

The male raked his fingers through his pearl-white hair and sighed in resignation. “Since you’re here, my sister must have told you about the alleged uproar at the mortal camps. Well … that was a misunderstanding,” he explained, crossing his thick arms across his chest.

“A group of mortals were here, at the docks, when one of them fell into the sea. A Fae sailor jumped right after to rescue the human girl; she couldn’t swim. I suppose it’s my own folk’s fault that instead of seeing her savior in him, the girl panicked in fear, thinking the Faerie would drown her in the waters. It went downhill from there.” Varian sighed again. “This whole Fae-helping-mortals-thing is fairly new to all of us, it seems. Which is a shame,” he concluded.

And sure enough, Elain could see the shame in the lowering of his eyes and the stiffness in his body. He really _was_ ashamed. And within all the relief she felt concerning the fake news, the Archeron felt certainty in Varian – and the Summer Court. A Summer Faerie had tried to save a mortal from drowning. Tarquin had opened his borders for mortals to mingle with the Fae. The alliance – the peace – was coming alive.

“Where is the girl?” she asked. “Is she all right?”

To her further relief, Varian nodded again. A strained smile crept onto his lips. “She believed in the sincerity of the sailor. She is well and alive.”

Elain smiled brightly at that. Peace was truly on its way if mortals started to trust Fae. But her smile faded from her face when she remembered her vision. _Azriel_.

Looking around the docks once more, Elain tried to find the Illyrian. “Where-,” she started to ask Varian when someone gripped her arm, wheeling her around. She was met with a broad, hard chest and two crushing arms that held her to the tall frame.

“Elain,” Azriel breathed in relief, burying his head in her hair.

Elain immediately clung to the male, slinging both arms around his middle. She could hear his heart thumping where she laid her head against his chest.

Pulling away enough to look up at him, Elain scanned his face and the rest of him for injuries. There had been no real riot, but still.

“Are you all right, Az? I was so worried that …” she trailed off once meeting his eyes. The intensity in them took her breath away.

Azriel still held her close to him, his hands resting on both of her arms. He didn’t seem to think about letting her go. “I’m fine. It was a false alarm. I flew back to the palace to make sure you wouldn’t worry but Cresseida told me you were gone,” he explained, looking slightly pale. His hands squeezed her arms gently, bringing her even closer. “I went to the mortal camps first, since that’s what Cresseida said she’d told you,” he growled at that, “but you weren’t there so I came back. Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Azriel searched her face, just as she had searched his a moment ago. Elain laid her hand on his scarred one that had move to her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she reassured him, watching him exhale in relief. It didn’t even matter that Cresseida had lied to her, that she must have felt something akin to jealousy after all – to send the seer in the wrong direction. All that mattered was that Azriel stood here, unharmed, and looking at Elain as if he had lost his breath and caught it as soon as he found her.

They stood there staring at each other, Elain captivated by that look in his intense, hazel eyes and warm hands on her body. She felt as if she’d fallen into a dream, and everything around her was in a daze while Azriel was as sharp as the blade of Truth-Teller.

Elain forced herself to shake off the dizziness that overcame her with the sight of him, and stepped back until he wasn’t touching her anymore. She dragged her eyes from his face.

“We should head back then,” she said, not meeting his searching gaze, “since everything’s all right.”

She took another step back, only for Azriel to follow right after. “Elain,” he began. Elain saw him swallow hard. “Can we talk?”

Dread was again building in her chest, that cold fear of losing Azriel surging through her system. “I don’t think that’s a good …” Elain halted when Azriel held up his hand. Palm up, for her to take.

“ _Please_.”

And it was that pleading, longing word he uttered making Elain’s eyes flutter up to his.

 _Was it possible to fall in love with eyes?_ Elain thought. Because she had so fallen for Azriel’s. And Elain couldn’t _not_ do what he asked of her when he looked at her like that.  

So she laid her trembling hand in his, while shadows spread around them and engulfed her frame. Elain barely heard the gasps of the crowd once met with Azriel’s full-on darkness. The shadowsinger tugged her closer; the last thing she saw before he stepped through the shadows with her was the hazel of his eyes.

The salty breeze of Adriata’s sea could be smelt from anywhere, though when they stepped through the darkness, the salt was almost palpable. Elain could hear the mildly crashing waves against the sand before the darkness had cleared; she knew where they were before her eyes accommodated to the bright sunlight.

Azriel had brought her to the beach just beneath the stone palace.

Elain snapped his eyes up to his in surprise. He brought her here out of all places? Where she had kissed him for the first and only time? Elain’s mouth dried.

She tried to withdraw from Azriel, to gently pull her hand out of his grasp. He held fast onto her fingers. When Elain looked up at him, she realized he was staring at her wrist.

“You’re wearing it,” he wondered, his scarred, long fingers grazing the sea glass bracelet Elain had tugged on right after her bath.

“You knew I loved it,” she replied softly.

“I did. But I was still worried you wouldn’t love it as much if it came from me.” Azriel was still brushing upon the bracelet. His fingers gently brushed the skin of her wrist.

Elain tried to calm her racing heart, stifling the urge to shiver at his touch. “That’s why I love it even more now,” she breathed. His eyes snapped up to hers, and his lips notched up at the corner. Elain’s heart skipped a beat when Azriel deliberately caressed her hand.

However, his face fell into a pained grimace once he recalled why he had brought her here. “Elain … I feel terrible,” he began. “Yesterday, when you … I didn’t know what to do. I never would have thought that you feel like that about me. I had no idea.”

Elain couldn’t help the bitter edge to her voice when she replied.

“I know. I saw it.”

She could still remember the shock in his eyes, the stiffness of his body. He _clearly_ hadn’t expected her advances.

Azriel raked the hand he wasn’t holding her own with through his hair, staring at her all the while. He shook his head in disbelief and inhaled a shaky breath. A lock of jet black hair fell into his eyes when he cradled her other hand in his. He pierced her with his intent gaze; his eyes were full of that brightness, Elain realized, that shone whenever he felt strongly of something.

“But you must know, surely, that you have me completely bewitched, don’t you?” he uttered, voice as raw as gravel.

Elain felt the words like a punch in her lungs, taking away every gasp of breath there was. Confusion furrowed her brows as the female stared at the shadowsinger, shaking her head.

“I … What do you mean, Azriel?” she found herself stuttering.

If Elain hadn’t known better, she’d think Az was looking at her with something akin to … admiration. Daze. _Love_.

“It’s the truth. There’s next to nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Elain Archeron. Nothing you couldn’t make me do with the hint of a thought.” And the way he said it … there was no doubt in Elain that he was being honest right now. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed, captivated by his eyes and the way they shone for her.

“You don’t?” Azriel asked, stepping close enough that Elain had to tip her head back to keep looking at him. “I would have thought it was as clear as Adriata’s sea. That I’d move Heaven and Hell for you. That I need you as night needs day, and the moon longs for the sun to shine.”

 _Mother_ , what was he saying? Didn’t he know that such words out of his mouth made her want to cave in and rip her heart out of her already heaving chest to give it to him? He couldn’t … she needed … Elain faintly wondered if Azriel had felt like _this_ when she kissed him out of the blue last night.

To her surprise, Azriel snorted – wincing while his mouth stretched into a self-mocking grin.

“What?” Elain mumbled, still taken aback from his confession. _As night needs day_.

Azriel looked at her – no hint of his shadows or the wall that sometimes surged up between the world and himself. He was bared open for her to see.

“I recall telling Cassian I wouldn’t need to resort to spouting poetry while advancing a female of my heart. And here I am, talking like a love drunk idiot of a male.” _Female of my heart? Love drunk?_ Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing any longer.

“You see, there’s truly nothing I wouldn’t do for you, flower. Anything you ask of me, I would give you. Even poetry,” Azriel concluded, voice low and eyes hooded. His thumbs swiped simultaneously over her skin, the calluses of his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Elain had difficulties deciding whether this was one of her desperately hopeful dreams, and for a moment, she didn’t know if she was still laying in her bed, eyes puffed with crying and hands clenched into the sheets of the light summer blankets.

But none of her dreams could have captured the way Azriel’s real touch felt across her skin. What the close proximity did to her heart. This was real, and as Elain stared into the eyes of the male she loved so dearly, she realized there might be hope after all.

Although his words were the most beautiful ones she had ever heard, the emotions in his eyes were the ones to convince her. The expression on his face. After all, Elain and Azriel had always been better communicating with silence. And right now there was a request in Azriel’s hazel eyes. _Ask me_ , they seemed to say. _Ask me for anything_.

And Elain remembered thinking she had jumped from a cliff last night; the ground had been closer and harder than she’d thought. Last night, falling from that cliff had hurt her to her bones. But now, standing there again …

_Ask me ask me ask me_

So Elain took a step closer to Azriel – readying herself for the fall – and tilted her head so she was looking him square in the eye as she said, “There’s only one thing I would ask of you in this moment, Azriel.”

Her shadowsinger – her _best_ friend – seemed to exhale in relief and closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and fitting the gardener against his chest. His head bent until his mouth was aligned with hers; Azriel’s other hand cradled her cheek, light fingers softly stroking her temple, her cheek, until they buried themselves in her hair.

His eyes were the shade of molten amber when he traced her face with his gaze, as if he had been hungry for her all his life. Their noses touched; Elain felt his breath on her lips, the sensation enough to make her gasp. _Let me be your air_ , she thought desperately.

“You enchant me,” Azriel murmured before his lips descended on hers. Finally, the gap between them that had been begged to be closed ever since she’d laid her eyes upon him, was non-existent.

The kiss was beyond any dream, any fantasy, Elain could have had. It was all-consuming and gentle at once; Azriel was giving and taking, greedy but generous, moving on her mouth as if they had meant to be like this when the Cauldron was forged and the Mother brought all to existence. Day and night blended into a cacophony of light and shadows; the moon bright as if trying to outshine the sun.

 _Nothing could ever compare to this_ , Elain thought in a daze, grasping Azriel’s tunic between her fingers to pull him closer. _Nothing will ever compare to him_.

When both of them needed air more than their kissing – it took a while – they pulled apart, Azriel resting his head to her own while he tried to catch his breath. Elain closed her eyes, panting. When she opened them, she was met with the picture of her hands on his soft tunic. She could see his Illyrian tattoos peeking out under the fabric.

The seer couldn’t help but grin at the image. Her foresight was truly something; it had never led her astray.

“I can’t believe I waited so long to do this,” Azriel uttered, still not having caught his breath. His chest heaved against hers, the pressure the sweetest and most alluring of all.

“I’m glad it’s happening at all,” Elain answered playfully. Then more soberly, “I would have waited all my immortal life for you, Azriel of Night. For you, and only you.”

After that, Azriel didn’t wait for their breaths to return; he became her air instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. hope you enjoyed x


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